Anxiety bff, Jungkook finds it particularly hard to talk to his (sex-on-legs) colleague, Taehyung
Today in a rush between /hold on/ & /give me a minute/ he ends up saying—
“Hold me for a minute.”
On the cliff-edge of embarrassment, there are arms wrapping around him—
Jungkook is flabbergasted in such a way that his head takes a wild spin.
He is pretty sure he goes puppet-pliant in the arms for a long second before reality comes back with a bolo punch.
He finally comes to notice what just happened.
Is— is Taehyung… hugging him?
Farmost spawn of lies he births in his mind, tell him he has never imagined this.
Never in the dark of nights he has closed his eyes and compelled his mind into remembering the scent of Taehyung’s Frédéric Malle cologne, while he buries his nose in his fleecy pillow
and pretends it to be a (/the/) chest he cuddles into.
He has never done that.
What is he? A weirdo?
But oh there’s a chest pressing up his nose now, enough to obstruct the sniff,
The arms, the one that he has /never/ noticed to be slenderly /nimble/ — veined Medusa hair and peach fuzz exposed with the sleeves folded, carrying coffee mug to the copy machine like world cup?
But oh them arms wrap around his waist so softly but also snug, fitting better than the Stella McCartney belt Jungkook sold his soul to buy.
His mind, excuse you, that was given consolation price in the Busan’s Little Genius Award 2002, now fizzes down to nothing but dramatic cello of ‘DUN~DUN~DUNNNN’
Is— is Taehyung… hugging him?
He gasps, outraged disbelief and hysteria— his hands come to ball over Taehyung’s shoulder blades, collecting all of the blazer they could, and then, sensibly (stupidly, so, so stupidly!)
He pushes Taehyung away.
Taehyung (long sigh, why is he so dreamy?) tumbles a little even tho the propel of the push wasn’t that hard, perhaps he’s taken aback from the uncalled for arrival of it, balances himself with a hand over the coffee shelf.
“I— I w-was.. trying to tell you to.. hold on.”
Oh, /now/ his tongue works?
Later in more senses Jungkook will remind himself to look up all the disorders where your own mind and body conspire to sabotage your love/work/social/dream life because THIS is so outta pocket!
Taehyung’s eyes are wide in a jiffy, not long before he understands what just happened.
Jungkook, still not recovered from the punch blow of this (life-changing cathartic) event,
blearily registers Taehyung bringing his hand over his mouth.
Looking absolutely /scandalised/.
“Oh my god!” He covers half of his face now. “Shit I thought—“
‘I understand and you’re such a gentleman for doing that i love you please marry me’ Jungkook would say if he wasn’t… Jungkook.
But there are /yowl/ noises from the butterflies that spin in a cyclone in his tummy and he cannot can’t connat connot cantont.
Taehyung, meanwhile, has bowed a full 90 degrees, ears redder than his tie.
“Please— p-please don’t think that I’m a pervert! I misunderstood. I’m so /so/ sorry!”
He looks beyond mortified because Jungkook still stands— brain-mewling and internally flying, never addressing the sorries verbally.
He watches in a haze, as a bewildered-embarrassed-discombobulated-fuddled Taehyung runs out of the pantry chanting apologies.
His angel and devil of each shoulder have come in the middle to hug and ugly sob because why would he do that? Why, why, why?
In the evening when he reaches home, he has new sense of shamefaced disappointment now that past situation has settled in (yes, it took 7 hours.)
He feels like an absolute jerk for not comforting Taehyung when he should have because who knows clumsy slip ups better than him?
The loathe is so overpowering that it is almost powering. He pulls his phone out and opens that chatbox he’s stared with unsent texts right about a million times and closed it just as many.
If anything he’s taking away here, he’s cannot let Taehyung beat himself up for something Jungkook’s going to write in his autobiography as ‘purgative rainbows’!
All’s well that ends well ( ^-^)
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